As promised, here is part two of my Blind Date from Hell.

We were no sooner inside Paul’s R-NAV when he turned to me and said, “Hey, I’ve got a great idea! Instead of going out somewhere, let’s go pick up some beer, come back here and shoot pool!” Evidently Paul has made great use of the thirty seconds he was standing on my porch and has ascertained that I have a pool table - er, not that he went roaming over my house; the pool table is in the front room. And yes, it's black leather. Paul's suggestion presented a bit of a quandary for me: on the one hand, it wasn’t much of a date. Hanging out at my own house listening to music and playing pool was often how I spent the 80% of the weekends that I didn’t have dates. On the other hand, if we were safe in my house, no one would see me out with this flouride-challenged cowpoke. Plus, this occurred during the very short time in which I had a housemate, so I’d have a third person present as buffer. I agreed to this suggestion and directed Paul to the nearest liquor store.

Once there, Paul parked his R-NAV and I remarked that, considering the trouble I’d had accessing his vehicle, perhaps it would be best if I waited in the car. He agreed and asked what kind of beer I liked. I thought this was nice, that he would allow my preference to dictate which six-pack he chose. I answered, “Rolling Rock.” Imagine my surprise when Paul emerged from the liquor store with a twelve-pack of Rocks for me and a twelve-pack of Michelob for himself. An entire case of beer. For two people. For one evening. I thought sarcastically to myself, “Sheesh, how long is he planning on staying?” - a thought which would come back to haunt me.

Back at the ranch, we were joined by my roommate Jenna, who was hissed at to “Don’t leave me alone with this guy!” and so the three of us played pool for a while, listened to some music and hung out. Around midnight, Jenna and I started doing the yawning, watch-checking, remarking-that-it’s-getting-late thing. Paul was oblivious. He got game. Well, no, he didn’t, but he wanted game and evidently intended to practice at my house until he had it. No matter how long that took.

I never know what to do in situations like this. I’m fairly self-assertive and I’ll stand up for myself, but being outright rude goes so very much against the way I was raised as well as the way I prefer to behave. Therefore, I wasn’t sure what else to do when Paul steadfastly refused to pick up on any of our polite hints that it might be time to end the evening. Jenna finally said, “I can’t keep my eyes open another minute [which was true] so I’m going to bed. You really should, too, because remember, we have a bunch of stuff to do tomorrow [totally not true].” Paul roused himself from his entrancing game of pool long enough to tell Jenna goodnight and that it was nice to meet her. I said, “We should probably call it a night so the music doesn’t disturb her.” He said, “Oh, okay,” and returned his queue to the rack. “FINALLY!” I thought, but I thought wrongly.

Paul said that he didn’t feel safe to drive home after having so many beers and wanted to know if it was okay for him to crash at my house. Well, no, it wasn’t and if he’d had too many beers it was his own damn fault; I didn’t tell him to drink so much, I certainly never told him if he had too many beers he could stay over. On the other hand, I was very worried about karma and possible fallout if I kicked him out and he did get a DUI or worse, have a wreck and hurt someone. I knew I had nothing to fear from the guy, for a lot of reasons not the least of which was that Charles would beat him within an inch of his life if he tried anything untoward so I saw this as an inconvenience at the most. After pondering a moment, I said, “Well, you certainly aren’t sleeping with me but yeah, you can crash on the couch.” Paul was quick to reassure me that he had no illicit intentions and that the couch was fine.

The next morning, I was awakened at around nine by the crack-smack of billiard balls. Paul had picked up exactly where he’d left off the night before. Once I was dressed and at the front of the house, he asked if I wanted to go out for breakfast. “No, thank you, I have a bunch of stuff I need to do today.” He said okay and went right back to playing. Was this man NEVER going to leave my house? Once Jenna woke up, she and I talked loudly about all the chores and errands we had to do. Paul finally put up his queue and came into the kitchen. “At last!,” I thought, “he is going to leave.” Are you laughing at how naively optimistic I was? Because no, what Paul wanted at this juncture was not to depart, but to take a shower. “I’m sorry, but I’m just not comfortable with that,” I answered. He gave me this quizzical, “What’s your damage?” kind of look, like he couldn’t imagine why I didn’t want a naked near-stranger cavorting in my shower, but shrugged, returned to the pool room and resumed his game.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!

Jenna and I had a hissed conversation in the kitchen, mainly consisting of her saying she’d been there for me all night last night, that this was my problem and I was going to have to deal with it (fair enough).

So I walked into the pool room and said to Paul, “Look, I’m not trying to be rude but I really do have a bunch of errands I need to run today.” He said, “Okay, cool,” and lined up his next shot. I thought maybe he just wanted to finish that shot so I stood there a moment. He kept shooting. He just doesn’t get it. I couldn’t believe he didn’t get it but he didn’t, so I said, “Look, I have to run errands and you can’t stay in my house while I’m not here.” Paul again looked at me in complete puzzlement, totally not getting the logic behind his having to leave my house just because I did. The whole time he was racking his queue, getting his jacket and leaving, he had this air of polite confusion, like although he in no way understood why he had to go, he would do as I’d asked. At the door he turned and said, “How long are these errands going to take? I was thinking we could get together again tonight.” Yes, because I’ve had such a good time hanging out at my own house with a stranger in it that will. not. leave. No way am I letting this doink back into my house, if I can ever get him out of it! And we’re so close...almost at the threshhold...so I said, “I really don’t know but if I feel like hanging out, I’ll give you a call.” <— which wasn’t a lie. I didn’t call but then I didn’t feel like hanging out. He tried to move in for a kiss (ick! double-triple-quadramillion ICK to infinity!) so I did the quick head turn thing and presented him with a cheek. To his credit, he accepted this and FINALLY, at long long last, hopped into his R-NAV and drove away.

That is the end of the Blind Date from Hell, but it wasn’t the end of Paul! He called several times that day while I was “out” running my “errands” and several times that evening. He continued to call, and call, and call. I took a few of these calls and told him that I wasn’t interested in dating him, but he was not dissuaded and continued to call from time to time to see if I “wanted to hang out”. (No, surprisingly enough, I didn’t.) After he quit calling frequently, I thought I was rid of him. Not so! Paul still called out of the blue every several months, exhibiting an uncanny ability to intuit that enough time had passed for me to no longer live in active fear of the Blind Date from Hell and stupidly answer my telephone. YEARS, this went on. YEARS, I tell you.

Coming soon, to a blogspace near you: the true story of my SECOND Blind Date from Hell, also arranged by Charles supposedly to help make amends for this hellish experience.